First Time Feeling
by KaizokuShojo
Summary: But it's...it's murder, Holmes?" A oneshot collaboration between KaizokuShojo and bcbdrums. An On The Streets of Paris AU.


_**First Time Feeling**_

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_**DISCLAIMER: **__**Creatorship of the Sherlock Holmes stories and all that goes with them belongs to the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, not me, nor bcbdrums. xD**_

**KS: Bcbdrums and I were IMing one night, and after a conversation that moved from mary-sues and fan characters to Jackson Hughes and where he fell from the roof. This brought up lingering questions bcb had about Holmes's feelings at that particular moment. We talked about it, and it soon morphed into an RP sort of thing, which, when it was over, we decided would make an interesting oneshot. So, we put it together, and here it is.**

**It's essentially a missing scene/AU sort of thing from where Holmes and Watson had made it back to the head-quarters of the Parisian police and were first giving details to Inspector Achard. **

**We both had a great time doing** **this. She was Inspector Achard and Watson, while I was Holmes. It is in my 3rd person POV format.**

**Enjoy. **

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Inspector Achard, as thin and keen as ever, paced the room thoughtfully as Sherlock Holmes gave him the final details he would need to bring Hughes's men to justice. Gregson and Bradstreet were elsewhere, filing paperwork on Hughes's men for their transfer back to England, and the French detective had been silent for a few moments as he walked up and down the room, listening to the unofficial, but he finally stopped and looked at Holmes over his hawk-like nose.

"The manner of Hughes's death disturbs me, Mr. Holmes," he said at last. "I find it improbable that you could not have saved him. Honestly, what was going through your mind that you did not try?"

Holmes looked rather annoyed at the question, but answered as best he could.

"I did not like the situation, Inspector, but there was really nothing I could do. He was too far down the ledge, and if we had tried to save him, we probably would have fallen as well. And if we _had_ managed to save him somehow, then what? I also would rather have seen him die upon the gallows, but it seems that fate had something else in mind."

"You were two in number, couldn't you have restrained him?" asked Achard.

"There were two of us, yes, but Hughes had dozens just below."

"You could have used him as leverage against his men. Surely he had a gun? You could have kept it trained upon him as you left the building."

"An admirable idea, Achard, and we would have done that if we could have. I think if you recall correctly, Inspector, you will remember that Hughes's gun had fallen to the street earlier."

"Ah. But still, allowing a man to die? Especially when he deserved a lifetime in prison or worse? This could be grounds for manslaughter."

Holmes's growing irritation was plain to see as it leaked from behind his cold mask. "Hughes was a large, healthy man, whereas Watson and I were both rather worn from having just been _beaten_."

"Had you not just defeated him in a bout of fisticuffs?"

"No, I am ashamed to admit, and Watson will corroborate my story, that I was being bested by the man. Watson came to my aid, only to have a gun trained upon him. I took this opportunity to try to get the gun away from Hughes, and it was then that it was dropped to the street. He lost his balance and fell after this."

"Certainly, a grim death to be sure. But the man needed to pay for his crimes, against your country as well as mine."

"I agree with you entirely, but I am afraid there was little to be done."

"Hm," muttered the Inspector, his dark eyes narrowing at Holmes. "He bested you, yet somehow the man Hughes ended up dead upon the pavement and you are alive in my office."

"I think the bruises on my body, when compared to the bruises on the corpse, are sufficient to show who had the upper-hand in that battle," said Holmes, a trifle sharply.

"You stated that he had a hold on the ledge. Doctor Watson said he was there for a moment. Could nothing have been done?"

"As I said, he was too far out on the ledge. There was a slight chance we could have saved him," at this point, Holmes's steely eyes narrowed and his voice hardened, "but you tell _me_, Inspector, what we would have done then."

"I am getting the impression, sir, that you did not even make an effort," the French detective said sharply, his voice hardening also as he spoke. "As a servant of the law, surely you should have gone to every reasonable length to bring him to justice."

"Reasonable?" Holmes said. "My ribs were _broken_. I would have been of little help in saving him."

Achard stepped forward towards Holmes, continuing his interrogations. "But again, there were two of you. Could not one of you pull Hughes while the other made certain the two of you did not topple over as well?"

"Watson would have needed an able-bodied assistant to save that man without likely losing his own life, something I was not able to provide, and so was not about to let him do."

"So you let this man, whom you knew was desperately wanted by the police of at least three countries, perish without even a thought as to the consequence? We still do not know the lengths of his organisation. He pervaded this city like a plague and most evidence was lost with him. Do you realise the error you have committed in allowing his death?"

"Yes, Inspector. I'm afraid that I do," Holmes said in a low voice.

"Then why did you not even try?!"

Holmes shot a glance toward Watson. "Because...We could not have made it out of there if we had. And Hughes would undoubtedly have fled the country, likely never to be found."

Inspector Achard sighed and shook his head. "We cannot know the results of his possible escape. I am just shocked that you, a man of justice, would not go to any length--and risk--to see that it is served."

"No, we cannot, but I have a feeling that the police would never have found him, and I mean that as no offence to your Force. But a man cannot help what he does under certain circumstances. A man must make his decision in those dire moments, either for the wrong or right, and pray it is right."

Achard's ascetic face pinched in a slight grimace as he looked down his nose at Holmes. "It is my opinion that you made the wrong decision. But my opinion of that matter is irrelevant. What is relevant is your part in Hughes's death, and I am convinced his death was accidental...although whether or not you hold any guilt for the loss of the man, I do not know."

Achard turned and left without another word, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Watson turned to face his friend after the Inspector's departure, and spoke.

"There's one thing he mentioned, Holmes, I wanted to ask you..." Watson put his hands into his trouser-pockets and looked at the floor for a brief moment, as if thinking about how to put his question. "I looked back at you...as Hughes fell, and you did seem indifferent...about his death. You did not even blink when he...hit the ground. I know you to be a man of tight control, but...you truly seemed to feel nothing."

Holmes's grey eyes lowered to the floor, just below Watson's feet. "I...cannot say that I was entirely grieved over his death. I did not want you to fall, Watson."

"Well, of course not, nor I you. But you didn't even seem to care!" Watson ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "This man...he has chased us in the past, hurt us...in ways I don't want to remember. ...But, I would at the least expect you to be glad of his death, or hate the manner of it, or something...some emotion! But I've never seen that look in your eyes before--completely, totally devoid of all feeling." He then began to pace the room. "This isn't like you, Holmes. I'm...worried about you." He stopped in the middle of the floor and looked his companion directly in the eye.

Holmes was silent a moment as he met Watson's concerned, questioning gaze. "I'm...not sure how to feel. I hate the manner in which he died in, of course. But..."

"But what, Holmes?!" Watson snapped in frustration.

"I don't know, Watson. I don't know." Holmes's brow furrowed lightly, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a puzzled frown as he looked to the floor again.

"Well..." Watson sighed. "You said that you didn't want me to fall..." He looked around uncomfortably. "What were you feeling then, when I reached out for Hughes and you pulled me back?"

"Must you ask such difficult questions?" Holmes sighed.

"Only when I cannot find the answer myself, which is less often than you may think, with matters that concern you." Watson replied steadily.

Holmes paused, staring at his friend curiously.

"I...was afraid that he would pull you down with him."

"Afraid?"

"...Yes," Holmes replied after another pause.

Watson stared back at Holmes, incredulous. "I...well, that is..." he took a bracing breath and continued quickly, "perfectly logical considering the circumstances. But...Holmes, I have never known you to fear anything. Not even that dreadful swamp adder in the Roylott case. Does this..." Watson's eyes met Holmes's again, full of some strange emotion. "Do I cause you fear...? In my lack of ability...where your cases are concerned?"

"No, my dear Watson, no. Nothing of the kind," Holmes replied. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing."

"Your fear is nothing? In all our year of acquaintance you have never batted an eyelash at anything. Even in this case...your attention was always upon finding the solution. In between brawls in pubs, that is." Watson looked down, gathering his thoughts again. "How can you ask me not to worry? I've never seen you like this, Holmes..."

Holmes sighed softly through his nose, his fingers twitching for a cigarette.

Watson looked up quickly. "But even moreso, I've never seen you look so...apathetic. Why, Holmes? I need to know why."

"I simply do not wish for you to overconcern yourself...that is all," Holmes said gently, and there was a silence between the two for a moment before the detective continued quickly. "I've never felt this way, Watson. I hardly know _how_ to act!"

"Overconcern myself?!" Watson said with a raised voice. "How can I _not_ be concerned, when you return from your investigations, looking more haggard every day, and..." his voice lowered again. "Your eyes lose more fire all the time. How _do_ you feel?!"

"There again are those difficult questions..." Holmes said, his brow furrowing and frown deepening.

Watson sighed, sitting down into a chair. "Well, can you...can you describe the feeling to me? Perhaps I can explain it."

Holmes looked off, putting his hands into his trouser-pockets. "I do not understand it. When Hughes was on that ledge...I wanted to see him die. Perhaps not that way, but I knew it was our only way out. Or...rather..._Your_ only way out."

"My only way?" asked Watson. "Do explain."

Holmes's grey eyes looked upon his friend, suddenly filled with sadness. Watson's brows drew together in perplexity and worry.

"...I can hardly be blamed for not wanting to lose the only man that would tolerate me."

Watson's eyes grew wide.

"The only person whom I have ever been able to call a 'friend'," Holmes continued, averting his gaze slightly.

Watson's brows rose, somewhat shocked. "Holmes...my dear Holmes... You know that no force on earth could cause me to willingly leave your side. Not even Jackson Hughes."

"It's not 'willingly' that I am afraid of."

"You were worried...that this time we would not escape. That _I_ would not... But Holmes, then why..." Watson's gaze turned questioningly upon Holmes. "That look of total indifference. That is what frightened _me_. Seeing that same look...the look that Hughes had when...when we were no longer a source of amusement, but a hinderance. When he was going to kill us."

"It isn't like that, Watson," said Holmes, looking away entirely.

"Then how is it?!" Watson snapped.

Holmes fell into a chair. "It had to be done, Watson."

Watson's agitated countenance softened into worry once more at the sight of his troubled companion.

"I could not..." Holmes continued quietly, "...could not let him live."

"But it's...it's _murder_, Holmes?"

"He would have killed you."

"He would have killed us both. But we may have escaped, as Achard said..." Watson trailed off a bit. "We had no way of knowing what would happen..."

"So why am I being blamed?" Holmes said suddenly. "I chose what I did. I cannot say I am entirely pleased with it...but I chose what I did. You know I did not plan on his falling from the roof. I chose the only thing I could to try to take the gun from him--the fight--and if I died trying, there was still the small chance you could get away."

"Of course you did not intend on his death. And please, don't speak of dying while fighting him..." Watson shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I cannot bear the thought... But...you chose to allow a man to die? To _die_?! He may not have been a good man--as far from it as is possible--but still a human being. We don't have the right...to make that choice."

Holmes buried his face in his hand. "I know..." he said miserably.

Watson's face twisted in empathetic pain. He stood to his feet and walked over to his friend, putting a comforting hand on his thin shoulder. Holmes flinched very slightly, but settled under the touch.

"So that was it, then. Fear...and..." Watson's voice lowered to almost a whisper, "...remorse...for a choice you had to make, and the wrong decision..." The Doctor's eyes blinked several times to halt the coming tears.

Holmes did not speak. His hand pulled down from over his eyes to settle over the lower half of his face. His eyes stared distantly at nothing; his breaths came somewhat unevenly.

Watson watched him carefully, trying to contain his emotions. "I... I, well...thank you."

Holmes didn't say anything for a minute, still staring into nothingness. When he did speak, it was barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"No, please--!" Watson said quickly. "Please...do not be sorry for your actions. I have never...been so touched in all my years. And Holmes," Watson moved and knelt in front of his friend, looking directly into his eyes, "...we must all learn. We cannot know when choices like that will force themselves upon us. And we have to take them as they come... Do not fault yourself for what you did. I do not."

Holmes's eyes widened, glistening with moisture, and his breath caught in his chest.

"And..." Watson continued, smiling wryly, "I am grateful, because we most likely would not have escaped alive."

A smile spread slowly and slightly onto Holmes's pale countenance.

"Well," said Watson, taking a shaky breath, "better...?"

"...Yes. And you, my dear Watson?"

"Better than I have been in a long time, Holmes," said Watson with a smile.

Holmes's smile grew. "Good."

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**KS: Thanks for reading! Please, review! I know we didn't do entirely what we _could_ have with this, but we wanted to keep Holmes and Watson from saying most of what they really felt. Holmes doesn't like exposing his feelings. XD**

**bcbdrums: This was the most fun roleplay I have done in a long time, and I learned more about Holmes and Watson in doing so than I have ever since I read the canon. Thanks to Kai for writing such an excellent and thought provoking fic as 'Paris.' I hope you all enjoyed!**


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